Synnecrosis
by Rai-kun
Summary: Stuck in a situation where all hope seems lost, Ranma finds salvation in the form of... a game?
1. Chapter 1

It was the start of summer break when Ranma Saotome was cornered by two of his friends and told that they had the perfect place in mind to get him away from home. They gave him a sales pitch touting rest, recuperation, and general fun.

When he asked what the catch was and how much it was going to cost him they said he wouldn't have to pay a dime. Apparently all he had to do was be nice to everyone around him, especially Akane, for an entire week. Ranma didn't quite understand what any of that had to do with the trip, but Hiroshi made it very clear that it was very necessary.

The price was right and it had some honest appeal since they painted a pretty picture about a city just southwest of Tokyo called Shizuoka that was out along the coast, but he was suspicious. It couldn't be that easy.

They said the plan had the "Tendo Nabiki Seal of Approval" and that Cologne had a hand in planning it out as well. When he asked for details and offered to help flesh out the plan he was told flat out that it wasn't happening. Hiroshi and Daisuke had this weird idea that the more clueless he was the more effective it was going to turn out in the end.

Ranma had to admit that he found it a little annoying to be thought of as a hindrance, but he was wholly willing to play along just to prove that they were all completely wrong. Then they'd have to beg him to come up with an alternative plan.

A week later an odd sequence of occurred that sent the girls in his life scurrying off on an adventure to find a rare flower that didn't do anything for a rare condition that he didn't have and just like that his vacation began.

* * *

Synnecrosis Chapter 1 - Wandering Shadow

Disclaimer: The characters and setting of Ranma 1/2 belong to Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Kitty, and Viz Video.

Fate/Stay-Night is the property of Kinoko Nasu, Type-Moon, Kadokawa Shoten, Studio DEEN, and Geneon Entertainment.

* * *

Ranma had never actually visited the city of Shizuoka itself, but he did pass by it a few times during his training trip with his father. It was four hours outside of Nerima by train with only a single stop made in a tiny hot spring town called Atami, but it was everything promised and not just some fancy talk.

"Now, Saotome, tell me that isn't a money shot right there," Hiroshi proudly proclaimed. The scenery outside the window was framed like a pretty picture. There were mountains with big trees on one side, with the clear blue ocean beaches on the other, and Mount Fuji was more than just a tiny muffin top on the horizon like you d see back in Nerima. It was huge, looking like it did on all those postcards and... it was all just too nice.

"Why go to all this trouble?" Ranma finally asked.

Hiroshi and Daisuke shared a look, synchronized tilting of their heads, and then finally a shrug before finally Hiroshi answered with a question of his own. "Do we really need a reason?"

"I guess not," Ranma conceded, feeling like a heel for having questioned them like that. Truthfully he couldn't shake this weird sinking sensation that bothered him. He felt like he was being setup for a good old fashioned screw job.  
It might have been pessimism talking, but he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It just had to. A trip like this to such a nice place with no strings attached? He had been a part of enough shady dealings with his father and Nabiki to know that the fan was spinning and all set to make a big mess.

Ranma would be quick to admit that he wasn't necessarily book smart, but he was street wise. People always had a reason for the stuff that they did. Some with good intentions and some with bad, but there was always some kind of gimmick involved and the trick was to figure out the motivation - so what was the goal here?

Since it was Hiroshi and Daisuke he was dealing with there was a good chance that it was going to be some half-baked scheme to hook up with some girls using "Ichano Nijo's: Tactics" which was some kind of book on dating and romance they recently picked up. In his opinion it would be re-titled, "How to get rejected in embarrassing ways until you hide in your hotel room and make your friend have fun on his own," because that's how he imagined things would play out.

With the nice weather and all the water that was laid out in front of them it was a simple, clean answer that made sense. As cautious as he was Ranma should've known better. It was *never* the simple answer when dealing with anyone from Nerima and the welcoming committee that greeted them when they got off the train was a sign of that.

"What the heck is all this?" Ranma asked as he eyed the small group of people standing anxiously at the platform.

"Don't worry about it. It's a welcoming committee," Hiroshi told him.

"Yeah, kind of like when you get off the airplane in Hawaii and you get greeted by a hot hula chick that gives you a flower necklace and a smooch," Daisuke added with a leeringly, faraway look.

For someone used to going to places by swimming across oceans or hitchhiking on the top of a train like Ranma it was like being a movie star or high profile athlete. It was weird, but he figured if this was what normal travelers experienced then he supposed it made sense. Their bags were loaded into a van headed to their hotel and they were given a gift bag of assorted complimentary goods.

While playing the part of meat in a human sandwich between Hiroshi and Daisuke, Ranma noticed that they passed numerous signs and advertisements announcing a "Street Performance World Cup!" that was set to take place in town.

"It's too bad that I'm not a huge fan of soccer," he remarked, offhand. The comment earned him a lot of stunned looks from the staff and nervous apologies from Hiroshi and Daisuke issued on his behalf.

"Please forgive him," Hiroshi said while nervously squirming in his seat and shooting his partner a panicked look.

"Yes... uh, I'm afraid my friend here was raised on the road. No sense at all and humor like a barbarian," Daisuke said. He whispered pleadingly to Ranma that he'd explain later.

So it was under the lights of dubious stares and much head shaking that Ranma was told about an annual weeklong event where performers from different countries got together in Shizuoka to entertain people with magic tricks, singing, juggling and other shows with prize money going to the top three groups worth $3,000, $5,000, and $35,000.

The challenge alone sounded kind of neat (and the money wouldn't be so bad either) so Ranma wasn't too angry with being deceived to this point. Plus he now had them in his debt so he might be able to somehow spin this to his advantage like Nabiki always did for herself. Besides it was really hard to say no when all the paperwork was already filled out and all the hoops were jumped through a month before they'd even left Nerima.

His answer might've been different had he known that they got the okay from the committee during screening because they were determined to figure out the trick behind a submitted video clip that showed a young man turning into a pretty girl and then back again with just some water.

* * *

Today was just the second day of the festival where the much anticipated "Aqua Magic with Hiro and Dai" ended in a literal blaze of glory. Poorly thought out pyrotechnics, water, and a wardrobe malfunction made "Mistress Nipple Slip" very, very popular with the fans. If the hundreds of flashbulbs were any indication it would remain memorable for years after the fact in ways that Ranma didn t even want to think about. Luckily the threat of unspeakable violence on his self-appointed managers hammered home the point that there would never be an encore.

What made it worse was that two of the competition rules got violated and got them disqualified right off the bat. The judges said that not only did they endanger the spectators with the fire, but that Ranma was responsible for "disclosing private body parts" when it wasn't even by choice or design. It ultimately fell on deaf ears and by that point Hiroshi and Daisuke threw in the towel and began selling pictures of Ranma's female form during and after the performance as commemorative souvenirs, which broke yet another of the five competition rules about profiteering and was the token nail in the coffin.

"A total disaster," Ranma commented before he groaned and stretched his arms over his head. He lounged against the windowsill of the room they were staying in and imagined how winning would have been nice, but with how things usually went in his life he hadn't banked on it.

What s done was done and there was no helping it now. Though that didn't mean that forgiven also meant forgotten either as both Hiroshi and Daisuke had a laundry list of things they d be doing on his behalf before they were off the hook. That he had a pair of "go-fers" was convenient since he was now recognized in either form, which made going out during the day a real hassle. If their accommodations had been nicer it might have made it easier to deal with.

"Yasujima Paradise" was anything but what the name implied. It was a hotel dolled up with tacky Island themed junk that made him think of Principal Kuno, which was just downright creepy. He kept thinking various objects like the coconut-shaped lamps were going to explode in his face and that the palm-tree sprouting weirdo would show up saying it was time for a surprise haircut.

Aside from that the place was just nice enough to not be called a total dive. To be fair though, it was a small miracle in itself that Daisuke managed to finagle lodgings when all he had to work with was a shoestring budget funded by unemployed teens that begged, borrowed, and scrounged what they could. There were certainly worst places he'd stayed in during his training trip, but that wasn't meant as a compliment either. The other guests called the place the "Leaky Tiki" with good reason - because it fit to a T.

"Are they here yet?" Ranma glanced over his shoulder to the guy who spoke up. He was Daisuke's friend who he didn't know very well. He was sitting in the corner texting with a Hanshin Tigers baseball cap worn crooked on his shaved head. He wore shades on all occasions, even at night, and had no volume control at all. The guy couldn't whisper if his life depended on it. Ranma referred to him as Noisy Tiger since it was easy to remember.

He was one of three additional members that joined them a few days after Hiroshi, Daisuke, and Ranma arrived in Shizuoka. They were all recruited to be a part of the stage crew, which Nabiki had somehow arranged with their respective club advisors as gaining practical experience. It was yet another tally in the point column tracking the shrewdness of Nabiki Tendo.

The next person in the group was Mumbles who tended to keep to himself. Prickly and grouchy with a bowl-shaped haircut and weird M-shaped eyebrows, he mumbled whenever Ranma greeted him and seemed to glare at him a lot for whatever reason. He knew his way around the stage equipment though so he had some uses.

"Y-yeah, we n-need snacks and be-bev- d-drinks," the youngest guy in the group chimed in with a nervous stutter. Ranma had yet to hear the guy's real name except that everyone here called him Guinea Pig.

The kid had this weird habit of mixing together different vending machine drinks into a single concoction. He was friendly though, which was a plus, but come on now - sweet red bean, coffee, and melon yogurt milk? It was a page right out of his fiancee, Akane Tendo's, cookbook. Before he could really get started on reliving indigestible memories the gentle flicker of bulbs as strings of light and lanterns started to turn on one by one.

For the people on ground-level it was probably too early for them to really appreciate the sight since it was that weird time of day when it wasn t either dark or bright outside. Late afternoon was giving way to early evening where darkness and light blended together much like the hodgepodge of vendors, entertainers, and curious onlookers were doing in the streets. People were forced to walk intimately in the confined spaces as they made their way to the three big stages setup in Sumpu Park to host the top acts.

Ranma managed to pick out Hiroshi and Daisuke in the crowd. They were being bounced around like pinballs as they tried to cut a path through to the hotel's main entrance. The ragged pair pulled free after much effort and he knew it wouldn't be long before they made their way up to the room. "Looks like dinner is on the way up," Ranma announced, which earned various degrees of enthusiastic responses from the others.

A short while later the sound of an electronic key-card being swiped preceded the entrance of a tired, grinning pair bearing shopping bags from the local convenience store. "You should all get down on your hands and knees in thanks that we braved the wilds to return with these bountiful treasures," Hiroshi stated, while dumping the bags contents onto the table. Daisuke nodded solemnly in agreement.

"Don't d-draw short s-straws t-then," Guinea Pig suggested, which garnered him dirty looks from the pair, but chuckles from everyone else.

"Oh, we don't intend to, gentlemen," Hiroshi said in confident tones. "Because we have a new system in mind, right, Dai?"

"Indeed."

"So," Hiroshi drawled, drawing in the attention of each of the room's occupants with an odd glint. "How about we decide tomorrow's snack runners with a nice friendly card game? We can even throw in some cash to spice things up."

"No way is that happening!" Ranma said firmly. "I'm putting my foot down on this issue you guys and I mean it!"

And so it was without much surprise that twenty minutes later saw Ranma holding a set of playing cards after a questionable Democratic process and a heavy dose of peer pressure citing manliness was observed. He stared once again at the cards in his had hand, willing them to somehow change his fortunes.

Daisuke as the dealer looked at Ranma sympathetically. "Your move is up, Mister Saotome. No stalling, please."

The players to his right and left gave him measured looks, which he felt inclined to return in kind with his own. Ranma felt a bead of sweat break loose from his hairline and run down his cheek. He felt boxed in by the tight quarters of the room and even more so by the fierce pressure his friends were exerting. He momentarily dropped his eyes to his cards and when he looked back up he was met by five disturbing grins that reminded him of his father.

"So what's it going to be, Saotome?" Hiroshi prompted.

His tongue suddenly dried up in his mouth and it became a struggle against his own body to form the words he wanted. There was a nagging voice in his head that reasoned that this was like selling himself for a bowl of rice, two fish, and a pickle.

"I'm in," he finally declared. The fact that cheering followed it was probably a bad sign.

"I've got a pair of Jacks."

"T-two pairs f-for me."

"Suck it, Pigtails, I've got Three Queens!"

"FULL HOUSE IS IN THE HOUSE!"

There was a pregnant pause as the attention turned to Daisuke and Ranma who had yet to announce their respective hands.

"I've got a Royal Flush." Daisuke enunciated the last two words with nerve fraying deliberateness and then ended it by mimicking the sound of a toilet. A chorus of groans accompanied a hail of cards flung at him in disgust.

Ranma didn't bother flipping over his cards choosing instead to squint owlishly at his so-called comrades. "I hate you all."

"What, you're not even going to give us a peek at your hand?" Hiroshi asked, feigning hurt.

"I'll show you the knuckles on it," Ranma replied, grouchily and shook his fist in a threatening manner that earned him nervous chuckles.

"Now, don't be like that. Maybe your luck will change with this next hand. You could go on a hot streak and win it all back with interest." Daisuke shuffled and handled the cards one-handed like a pro, which should have rung warning bells in the pigtailed boy's head.

"I don't know," Ranma said. Finally some justified uncertainty crept into his voice, which coincidentally sounded like the pitiful moans of a wounded wildebeest to the hungry lions in the room. A quick mental check of the cash left in his wallet made the more logical part of his mind whimper.

"Well, we wouldn't want to pressure you," Hiroshi said.

"Most definitely not, and if you want to pull out now, that's cool," Daisuke smoothly carried on.

"I mean, this is just a friendly game after all," Hiroshi said solemnly. "There's no shame in bowing out, right?"

Ranma felt the word "shame" echo mockingly in his skull, and the collection of five sympathetic nods he received was rocket fuel to his flagging competitive fire. Common sense looked away in shame as Ranma slapped down more cash.

"That's the spirit of a true winner. You have to lose money to make money," Daisuke commented, not believing his own words for even a second. He dealt out the cards with a rueful shake of his head, as Ranma scooped each card up greedily like a starving rat would crumbs.

Each player picked up their cards and made the necessary swaps to get their final hand until it was finally Ranma's turn - or it would have been if he were not staring up at the ceiling with his attention not even on the game. The assembled players stewed in an awkward silence as shrugs and confused glances were passed between them.

"This is the Earth calling Planet Ranma," Daisuke prompted with his hands pinching his nose. When that didn't yield even a twitch he shook the boy firmly by the shoulder. "Hey, is something wrong?"

"What?" Ranma replied, distractedly, and then on catching the expectant stares they all shot him, "Oh, sorry, uh... I fold," he announced then promptly got up to leave the room.

Confused grumbles and complaints about not being able to milk more cash from the Legendary Sucker followed him all the way out the door.

* * *

Ranma frowned as he ascended the steps to the rooftop of the hotel. He hated to leave the game so abruptly (well, that wasn't entirely true) but this was far more pressing. There was something up here that bothered his senses, and the closer he got, the more his unease grew.

The last time his stomach felt like this was when he had a gelatinous slice of Akane's Tobacky and Oyster Chili. She hadn't taken it well when he asked if they were inviting chain smoking otters over for dinner that night.

"Bad, so horribly bad," Ranma said with a smirk. Thinking about that culinary disaster coaxed a chuckle out of him that helped to chase some of his anxiety away.

The entrance to the roof was propped open by a plastic ashtray overflowing with crushed cigarette butts. He pushed on the door and gave silent thanks when the hinges didn't squeak, although he found himself hard pressed not to do so himself on catching a couple embracing in the shadow of a water tower. The lighting didn't allow him to pick out every detail, but the pink dress of the hotel maid staff could be seen and he could hear short, ragged bursts of breath and shuddering.

Ranma blushed from chin to hairline as imagination filled in what his eyes missed. He was just about to stammer out a quick apology and beat a hasty retreat when a passing wind brought a smell with it that forced him to cover his nose. It was the distinct smell of rotting meat, which was hard to miss even when you really wanted to and it was coming from the interlocked couple.

The woman suddenly arched her back and soundlessly screamed as an array of faint, crisscrossing yellow lines appeared on the skin of the woman's arms. They quickly turned a shade of bright red as particles were being drawn into her body from the air. Her body continued to glow ever brighter until her skin became translucent like rice paper, and then as quickly as it had all started it guttered out as a burst of smokeless blue-white flames were ignited.

Ranma gaped. The entire spectacle lasted mere moments and it was such a departure from what he was used to that he had a hard time even processing that the woman was now on fire. He shook off his stupor and rushed over to help, but was met with an unnaturally quick backhand to his jaw that took him clean off his feet and sent him tumbling. Ranma snarled angrily, probing his split lip with his tongue.

The flickering light of the fire provided fleeting glances of the figure. As far as Ranma could tell it was a faceless black mass that had just enough features to be recognizable as human in shape like a mannequin. He didn't have a clue if this was some kind of high-level special ability, a demon, a robot, or some kind of space creature. Without a doubt, however, was that it was now a murderer.

Ranma glared as it turned what he assumed was its face in his direction. "What the heck are you?" he asked with a mixture of both caution and wonderment in his voice. As if pulled from a stupor by his voice the creature released the still burning corpse that disintegrated as it hit the surface of the roof. There was no blood, no bones, and not even a speck of ash left behind.

He'd never tangled with anything quite like this before so he wasn't sure what his chances of winning would be in a straight up fight. There were so many unknowns in play that to proceed would be to teeter dangerously on the edge of recklessness. The grin on his face stretched wide at such a prospect.

It was this feeling of uncertainty and excitement that he was a slave to. It gave him a rush that his usual rivals just couldn't supply him these days and his heart beat just a little faster in anticipation. Ranma coiled his body tight in anticipation of a response and it came in a violent yet uncoordinated fashion.

Ranma easily avoided a clumsy bull rush and he countered with a kick that left his attacker's leg bent at an angle that should've dropped it to the ground and unable to stand. He frowned though as what he expected was the feel of muscles and bones on contact, but the sensation was totally wrong - like wet sand. His brow furrowed when he saw the damage mend itself with little effect.

It moved with a ponderous speed with random, jerky flailing, but there was ridiculous power behind each swing. To make matters worse, if he wasn't imagining things, it was getting faster and more fluid with each passing second. He had to make a decision right here, right now take it down quick or make a tactical retreat.

Ranma planted his right foot and waited for a punch and when it came he managed to spin behind it and dealt a blow that should have shattered its spine, but he was left sputtering a litany of expletives when his arm was engulfed up to his elbow instead.

"That's cheating!" Ranma accused as what appeared to be its back shifted to now become its front. He attempted to free himself without success and was stuck staring in sick anticipation as a fist was slowly reared back. He braced for the counterstrike as best he could with his arms, but the punch burst through his guard with ferocity beyond his wildest expectations. It caught him square in the jaw and easily put Ryoga's best offering to shame and took Ranma to the very edge of consciousness. The only benefit was that he was dislodged and near the edge of the roof.

"It's time for the Saotome Secret Technique - FAST BREAK!" With that Ranma turned and jumped for the streets below, but found his escape cut short as a snake-like tendril wrapped around his ankle. "Oh shit, that's not good," he managed before he was hoisted back up and slammed against the pavement where globs of bloodied saliva left his mouth along with his breath.

* * *

Hiroshi and Daisuke shared an odd look as a loud bang shook their room and bits of loose debris from the popcorn ceiling came raining down on their heads.

"What the heck is going on up there?" Hiroshi asked as he stared at the exact same spot that Ranma had earlier in the evening.

"You think that's our boy up there having some fun?" Daisuke looked at his childhood friend with a raised eyebrow, which earned him a mirrored response from Hiroshi.

"More likely than not especially whenever Ranma is around."

Mumbles snorted derisively. "Who cares what an asshole that can't even remember people's names is doing," he said, revealing clues about how he managed to get his pet name.

"M-m-mumbles..." Guinea Pig said before taking a sip from his bottle to hide his twitching smirk. It earned him a frustrated shriek from said boy who had to be calmed down by Daisuke.

"Now, now," Hiroshi chastised, playing the role of peacemaker. "Let's all play nice here."

"Can't one of you go grab that longhaired punk and bring him back down here so we can kick his ass from one end of the room to the other again?" suggested Mumbles who glared at the triumphantly smirking stutterer.

"I bet he's still smarting," Hiroshi openly teased.

"Seems like the type to get over stuff quick." Noisy Tiger quickly tugged his ball cap lower to further hide his eyes.

"Which is even a better reason to bring him back here," Mumbles replied. He looked at his roommates and wrung his hands as if wadding an imaginary ball of paper. "To think a card game was the key to leave that macho man a crumpled heap on the ground..."

Daisuke interrupted with a roll of his eyes. "Need I remind you gentlemen that the golden cash cow comes equipped with the ability to make us eat our shorts and bend us like a pretzel with his bare hands?"

Mumbles had a fire burning in his eyes that was not dimmed in the slightest by the threat of bodily harm. "If I was taking him on in a fistfight, sure, but that isn't happening. I just want to see him weeping and curled up in defeat!"

"Sad," was the immediate response to his suggestion from the rest of the occupants. The accused boy defended himself with indignant sputtering, but offered no real rebuttal.

"Well, I'll go take a look. Do we have any other volunteers to come with me?" Hiroshi asked. The others wished him well with various unenthusiastic waves. "Dai, my wingman," he cried out, betrayed.

"Dude, this place gets creepy once the sun goes down," Daisuke pointed out logically. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, I'll burn incense for you in remembrance if you don't come back."

"Not funny, man. Not funny at all."

* * *

"This is no joke," Ranma wheezed in observance as his back stung fiercely in protest at the abuse it had taken. He kicked back up to his feet quickly, hoping to catch his assailant off-guard and get loose, but the appendage around his leg held strong.

Ranma toed some loose, shattered concrete shards from the ground up to his hands and flung them end over end. Either it didn't see them coming or didn't care as it took all three pieces flush to its face without so much as a flinch.

"Why do you do nothing against that, but react whenever I..." his words trailed off as a thought came to him. He dug out a coin from his pocket then fired it like a bullet. It too was not dodged and it lodged itself deeply into its dark skin before it was eventually forced out by the mending flesh.

"Okay, one final test then," Ranma stated then powered up his patented and proud technique, the Moko Takabisha. That got an immediate and animated response and earned him the creature's full attention. When he unleashed the attack it willingly jumped straight into the path of the ball of energy and ate it - literally.

Ranma was ripped away from his observation that the creature seemed hone in on ki as a tug pulled him into waiting hands that clamped firmly around his throat and began to squeeze. He was dangling off the ground without leverage and found he was not going to be able to pull free on pure strength alone and opened up his book of martial arts knowledge.

Ranma hooked his legs around the offending appendage and put it in a scissor lock then he threw his body into a crocodile s death spin to break its shoulder, elbow, and wrist. He thought he'd finally gain some breathing slack, but a savaged arm proved not be a hindrance either as it repeatedly slammed Ranma's head against the ground in thanks.

Before he could lament that anatomy and physics were both against him in this fight that his eyes bulged out as the iron grip around his throat shifted from grasping to constricting in an attempt to choke him out. Ranma gurgled every colorful adjective in his personal dictionary through clenched teeth. He squinted, trying to peer through a field of hazy spots as his faceless opponent raised his other arm in a deadly knife-hand motion. Safe and sane options were now off the table as forbidden ones came to the fore.

Ranma enfolded himself in the familiar blanket of his father's Umisenken technique, which eliminated his presence from detection. In an all or nothing move he banked on the hunch that it would think Ranma was replaced by an inanimate object. If he guessed correctly he'd be no different from a warm slab of concrete to its senses.

He fought down a whoop as it released Ranma then began stumbling about in a blind search, leaving him hidden in plain view. "I'd kiss you right now if I could you loveable, lard-assed panda," Ranma mentally whispered to himself.

He took that moment to gather his wits and reassess his earlier enthusiasm about encountering a challenge of this magnitude as this was turning out to be a bit more than what he bargained for. This confrontation was also missing that human element that he preferred. Taunts were totally useless here and that took at least half the fun out of it and it was deadly serious, which put it on a whole other threat category than a mutual exchange of fists.

The sound of a plastic container being knocked over was followed by a soft hiss as the door to the rooftop was opened. "Hey, Saotome, are you out here?" Hiroshi asked. "Tell me you're at least snatching yourself some booty if you're going to crawl up to a place like this."

That may as well have been a giant gong being struck because it triggered the start of a rapid sequence of events.

Before the words "run you moron" even left Ranma's lips the creature had already turned and was within three strides of Hiroshi whose eyes were thrown open wide like dinner plates.

Ranma gathered a large ball of ki in both hands that caused his target to hesitate for a moment, which was just enough to allow Ranma to clap both hands together on the sides of its head to trigger a detonation like a contact-explosive. The force of the blast hurled all three of them in opposite directions. Ranma himself skipped across the roof like a smooth river stone until he came to a jarring halt upon striking the base of a ventilation shaft with his back.

Sleeping right here in this awkward U-shaped position held some appeal, but he knew it was out of the question. With great reluctance he forced himself to roll over, and he had to suck in a deep breath before he strained to pull himself upright onto his feet. Running his fingers along his flank told him that his ribs were either fractured or broken at worst. He could feel that the skin on his back was peeled raw, and he was sore right down to every strand of hair on his head, but he bore it all with as much dignity as whining afforded.

The effort was worth it though since it gave him a glimpse of his unmoving opponent. "I'm still alive," Ranma croaked, trying to ignore how much he felt like a slab of tenderized beef. "And you got what you deserved," Ranma hoarsely taunted in what sounded like an asthmatic wheeze.

He wobbled unsteadily as dizziness and weakness in his legs forced him to lean on the dented airshaft behind him as a crutch. Closing his eyes he drew in a series of deep, calming breaths that eventually did the trick in banishing the vertigo that played havoc with his balance.

Even without being close enough to see every detail, he knew his harebrained attack had done its job well. Ranma maintained a wary distance from the thing as he hazarded a closer study. One of the legs remained attached to the main body by a thread, the other laid some 20 feet away, and the chest cavity was splayed open. He did find it odd that there was no trace of gore or even a drop of blood, but then what did he really know about this thing other than that it wasn't a run of the mill creature you'd find on the streets or in a zoo.

But of course I find it on the roof of the crappy hotel I just happen to be staying at during my summer break, Ranma complained.

With that said he channeled some energy internally to kick start the healing process and that's when what he thought was deader than dead turned out to be very much alive. A sudden twisting motion drove a bladed projection through the palm of his right hand that he tried to shield himself with and it continued unabated to plunge into his chest.

The shocked expression on his face quickly changed to one of pure anguish as his body was racked with a shuddering fit. He was caught between drawing breath and screaming and he could do neither. Ranma tried to force the appendage out, but it fought his grasp and responded by burrowing more vigorously. Ranma desperately pulled and clawed at his shirt and tore the surrounding skin open by the efforts of his own nails, but there was no halting it. He had a white-knuckled death grip around it, but it pushed even deeper.

Small gasps of air were all he could manage to force in as what felt like an angry serpent made of glass ripped a path into the very depths of his core. His legs finally gave out and Ranma hit the ground in a tangled heap of limbs as erratic spasms wracked his body.

He felt the grip of real panic taking hold, but he fought it down with determination fueled by smoldering anger. Was this how he was going to die as he let curiosity get the best of him? Alone on the roof of a shady two-bit hotel as he was tentacle raped?

No. This was NOT how Ranma Saotome was going to leave this world. He'd go to the afterlife kicking and screaming because he wasn t going down without a fight. With conviction reaffirmed he pulled on the faint strings to his inner energy and directed every drop left in his reservoir towards healing himself as he'd done so many times before.

Only something was wrong this time. He knew it instinctively even if he didn't understand the mechanics behind why as the sounds of the city around him was becoming garbled as if he was sinking under a vast body of water. His vision began to tunnel to a spiraling pinprick of light about an inch wide surrounded by darkness...

* * *

As much crap as Daisuke gave Hiroshi he wasn't going to abandon his best friend when he obviously needed him. Of course it didn't stop him from teasing the guy and letting him bumble around in the dark like a scaredy-cat. And if he just so happened to see a chance to spook him out of his mind it'd be one heck of a bonus.

"So, let's see," Hiroshi mused out loud, "The noise came from up above so it figures that's the direction I'll have to go."

So saying he went looking for a stairwell leading to the roof wondering if Daisuke sorted that out just as quickly or if actually went stumbling blindly into the dark the wrong way.

His footsteps echoed in the empty halls. Most of your normal guests were all still outside enjoying the sights and sounds of the festival that would go on strong for another three more days. Thinking of that brought up memories of lost opportunities - the money, but more importantly the fame that came with winning the title that would've opened doorways to great opportunities for both Daisuke and himself!

"And maybe Saotome too," he added sheepishly as a guilty afterthought. "But he's got enough good fortune with looks, skills, and babes hanging off of him so he can really go without and give to the less fortunate on the social ladder."

He reached the bottom of the stairs, which had an "Authorized Personnel Only" sign hanging off of a chain that ran the span from right to left that anyone could step over or under without any issues.

"It's like they're banking on the honor system to keep people out."

Since nobody was supposed to be here the lights weren't turned on in this area, most likely to keep the electricity bill down, but it sure did add to the feeling that something was going to jump out of the shadows.

"But it's not like there's anything out here anyway," Hiroshi stated, though the waver in his voice showed how much confidence he held in regards to that. He pulled out his cellphone and switched it to flashlight mode to light up the path. "It's so I don't trip and fall. Not because I'm scared of the dark or anything..."

A disembodied moan could be heard from higher up the stairs. It sent a jolt through Hiroshi's heart that caused it to piston up and down from the middle of his chest and up into his throat. He might've dribbled a bit of moisture into his trousers, just a bit.

"Hello?" he called out. "Is somebody up there? Dai, if that's you I'm going to put my foot up your ass 'cause this is not funny." He actually began chanting "please be Dai" over and over in a softly whispered mantra.

The moan came again, closer this time to his right, and he nearly soiled his pants. Coherent thought left his head with a supersonic whoosh of displaced air and he actually began meowing in an attempt to throw off whoever was there into believing he was a cat.

"Hiro?" a weak voice called, rebooting Daisuke's brain from the blue screen of death that it was frozen at.

"Dai!" he enthusiastically called out to his brother-in-arms and turned the light to pick him out of the dark. "Well, holy crap! What the heck happened to you?"

"Got caught up in one of Ranma's adventures," his friend admitted. "You might not believe it, but he was fighting a space ninja or something up on the roof. I popped my head up there and almost died, man."

"Well... that would've sucked," Hiroshi offered, not knowing what else to really say in response to all that.

"He used another one of those ancient Chinese video game moves and it threw me through the door and sent me tumbling ass over tea kettle down the steps. My phone snapped like a dry biscuit in my pockets and I've been moaning and groaning in pain all this time."

"Can you stand up and walk with me back to the room?"

"Dude, I'm delicate. I think I busted this, that, and a few other things," Daisuke said pointing to various body parts.

"Wait for Ranma then?"

"How about you go and bring him back here?"

"How about I sit here and keep you company? I don't do space ninja. It's not in the job description," Hiroshi replied, earning a snort from Daisuke.

"Scared?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Hiroshi muttered, "let me tell you about the trip up here."

"And the meowing?"

* * *

Ranma snapped awake on the rooftop. His body jackknifed as pain greeted him upon waking. Nerves and muscle fibers collectively fired and clenched in rapid-fire succession when he tried to force himself to sit up. The world spun and lurched so he wobbled unsteadily on his hands and knees until it passed. It felt like a railroad spike had been driven through his hand and chest leaving both areas tender. With the amount of pain he expected wounds weeping with blood, but his fingers came away unstained.

Once the world stopped dancing around like a drunken panda on a beach ball he started noticing little things as information started to get past the fuzzy haze in his head. The overpowering stink from before was gone and a cursory search of the area revealed that he was alone. Ranma couldn't even tell how much time had gone by.

"Did it get away?" Ranma muttered to himself as he looked past the roof's edge to the surrounding buildings. The sound of drums and crowds still milling about could be heard. "No, there'd be more panic and police sirens if it was running around on the ground."

That's when another thought suddenly struck him.

"Wait, why did it even come after that lady and me when it could have gobbled up people left and right like the Old Man at a buffet table?"

Something about that detail gnawed at him, but he wasn't getting anything useful out of thinking about it. "I've got to get out of here," Ranma finally allowed himself to say. He was going to shelve any further thoughts on the matter until the next day if he could.

His path to the stairwell took him near the water tower where nothing remained to show that the woman had even existed. It was unnerving to imagine being wiped out of existence; like being caught up in an atomic blast like in those educational clips they showed during history class.

"What made the two of us so special? And why did it spare me and only kill you?" Ranma wondered, serving as a morbid soliloquy.

Ranma really didn't have the energy to deal with this right now. This was far and above more serious than anything he'd ever dealt with before back home, and it was the numbness of shock that was keeping any hysterics in check. Everything was kind of muted right now, like he was experiencing life through a filter that kept things less real and more detached.

He'd have to report this to someone, but he wasn't sure how he was supposed to explain what happened up here. Who was going to believe this story? A crazed inkblot monster that smelled like rotten meat killed a woman with neon fire was beyond the scope of the utterly bizarre for even Nerima. If they didn't throw him out of the police station on his ass for wasting their time they might just as well throw him in a padded room.

Belatedly a thought occurred to him. "Wait, where'd Hiroshi go?"

There was no sign of him on the roof. He guessed that with their positions when he let his attack go off that he was probably hurled back down the stairs. Ranma looked at the entryway and noticed the wooden door was blown off its hinges with bits of it littering the floor. He hoped Hiroshi was okay since there were arguably 99 or 100 steps from the top here to the bottom.

Ranma whistled appreciatively as he looked at the distance. "Better hurry and see if he's okay. He might've busted something delicate if he didn't manage to land on his head," he joked.

Another dizzy spell sent him stumbling off-balance to crash into the handrails. Ranma snorted and briefly wondered if it might be the lingering effects from a concussion even though he'd taken plenty of headshots before without this kind of reaction. A sharp pain from the back of his hand left the fingers he dabbed it with coming away with rosy dots. It was followed by a lurching sensation as the whole world seemed to come to a stop then restart, only in slow motion that left his thoughts and his actions oddly disconnected.

Ranma tried to pinwheel unresponsive arms to fight for balance when it felt like the floor violently tilted upwards as if a rug had been pulled out from under him. He experienced what he thought impossible when two contrasting feelings hit him simultaneously. He was both standing and plummeting backwards beyond the point where the floor should be until he was left with the shocking sensation of frigid water closing in around him like an enormous, clenching fist. Ranma fell deeper and deeper into a pitch-black darkness where it seemed as if he was dreaming, even though he knew full well that he was still awake. Then, as quickly as it all started, it was over. He was back in the hall. There was no water, no endless darkness, no crushing pressure, nothing.

Ranma was about ready to chalk it up to needing to get checked out by Doctor Tofuu when his body began moving on its own. He felt his insides knot up as he began a journey down the stairs with one plodding step after another.

Trapped in his own head, Ranma was panicking as a litany of colorful phrases picked up on the road spilled out of his mouth like a raging torrent. He forced his mind to work in overdrive to figure out a way to get him out of this latest jam, but he was spinning in circles and getting no closer to a solution.

"Think, think, think! What can I do?" he desperately asked himself.

There was a faint glow of light up ahead at the curve of the stairwell and the sound of two familiar voices bickering in hushed tones reached his ears. He shivered as a sick feeling dropped into the pit of his stomach like a stone.

"Saotome!" Hiroshi and Daisuke greeted him together in unison.

End Chapter 1.

* * *

Author's Note:

Synnecrosis (n): An interaction between individuals or populations so mutually detrimental that it results in death, as in the case of some parasitic relationships.

To give you a reference of where in the timeline it is for Ranma, it's a little after volume 28 of the manga. That puts it after the Umisenken and Yamasenken incident, the Moko Takabisha training (volume 20), and Herb confrontation (volume 24), but way before any of the events involving Saffron (volume 37) takes place.


	2. Chapter 2

The city streets of Sunshine City in Ikebukuro were packed and dense during the late afternoon hour, forcing people to walk and bump shoulder to shoulder in opposing directions. It was the typical scene one would expect with any modern city where conversations blended together into a rumbling background noise interspersed by the sounds of passing vehicles, clopping of hard soles on pavement, and the distinctive digital tune of "Kagome, Kagome" as pedestrian crossing signs changed from red to green.

The melody was a very old and popular one introduced to most during childhood, but the lyrics were something that people never really gave much thought to. There were many interpretations of the song, but one in particular was that it was about a demon hiding among a group of people that jumped from host to host until it was eventually captured in a cage. So the irony of the schoolyard game coming full circle was not lost on him. The dense flow of people formed a ring around him as though they instinctively knew that a demon was once again in their midst, and without really intending to, he played his role well.

Hardly recognizable these days as Ranma Saotome, the pigtailed martial artist noted privately to himself that the situation was progressing much as he had expected. "So far so good, I suppose."

His long, dark hair was matted in places and veered off in wild clumps in others. From head to toe he was covered in a crusty second skin of indescribable filth that water alone had no hope of scouring away. A plain button shirt that might have once been white was worn untucked over tattered stonewashed jeans and a hooded jacket was draped over his shoulders like a pauper's mantle. It was a departure from his usual attire and he was in a state that would render him hard to recognize by even his closest family and friends in Nerima.

Even more curious than his disheveled appearance was his right arm that was bound with so many strips of appropriated cloth that it looked like an oversized club. He cradled it in a protective fashion and kept it close to his chest beneath the coat.

Some of these people would later rationalize that they tried to sidestep the young man for all those unwholesome traits, and while accurate, it would only be a half-truth at best. More than anything related to his hygiene it was the unnerving gaze that motivated them to stay out of his path. They were unwavering and void of that vital human quality that allowed a person to quickly make the distinction between one's own kind and a dangerous predator. The interval where the eyes capture an image and the brain processes what it thinks it sees and fires off a response is a moment measured in fractions of a second, but it was in that small window that primal instincts hardwired for self-preservation triggered with varying intensity.

"Got to hold it together and keep it steady."

The Soul of Ice from the Amazons of China was the technique he was employing here. Through repeated use he had become intimately familiar with it - enough to allow him to modify it to its current incarnation as a projectable eye effect.

As a martial artist Ranma had a certain sense of right and wrong that he liked to adhere to. Even taking into account that as a practitioner of a fighting style predicated on the notion that "anything goes" and that his values were skewed, he understood that he was playing a dangerous game here that could easily blow up in his face. That he was working with a good reason in mind lessened the burden of guilt somewhat.

Ranma's eyes moved from a trembling street thug to a startled yakuza wannabe who jumped out of the way and it was in that moment that an old man in the middle of crossing the street met his gaze full on. He tried to immediately look away, but the damage was already done.

Pedestrians came to a screeching halt, bodies colliding with each other like a multi-car pileup. They fought to come to a dead stop to avoid touching the man who was clutching at his chest and bubbling from his mouth. Just that quickly the crowd's fear turned into panic and Ranma lost control over his technique and with it went the means to rein in his arm. It was like throwing rocket fuel onto an already raging bonfire.

The cloth wrapped around his arm exploded, sending tattered fabric like confetti flying through the air. There was enough force packed behind it to knock almost a dozen people around Ranma clean off their feet. The windows of two passing vehicles were blown out and it sent them careening into others to set off a chain reaction. Terrified men and women ran every which way possible in a mass panic.

Ranma stared into the glassy eyes of the old man and solemnly took in the accusation he imagined to be there. He was interrupted when a middle-aged man in a business suit grabbed him roughly by the shoulder.

"This," the man wildly gestured to everything around them with his hands, "This is your fault! You did this!"

Ranma looked over his accuser's shoulder, refusing to look away from the body lying in the street. "You're right," he replied, resignedly. The businessman angrily tightened his grip around the bunched clothing in his trembling hands, unwilling to let him go.

Ranma closed his eyes and repeated the man's words a few more times to engrave it more strongly in his mind by invocation. A heartbeat later he twisted free and blurred out of sight, leaving the jacket still clutched by the startled man.

* * *

Synnecrosis  
Chapter 2 - Trapped Thoughts

Disclaimer: The characters and setting of Ranma 1/2 belong to Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Kitty, and Viz Video.

Fate/Stay-Night is the property of Kinoko Nasu, Type-Moon, Kadokawa Shoten, Studio DEEN, and Geneon Entertainment.

* * *

"That went as bad as bad could get." Ranma rubbed at his face, heedless of how the layer of grime on his cheek smeared like peanut butter. Ambition and carelessness paved the road into the jaws of hubris. That was the valley where he found his thoughts stranded with a busted wheel.

Oh, he could say now in retrospect that it was ultimately a wild, harebrained scheme. Too much so he freely admitted well after the fact, but he was blinded by desperation bolstered by small successes. Combined with the learning methods he had been reared on in his youth and it made for a bad cocktail.

His father's training style was to jump immediately into the application phase once the basic concept was outlined with revisions left to be made on the fly to hammer out any kinks that might arise. It was a good mentality for an adaptable and unpredictable fighter, but unfortunately not something applicable in all situations. Failure in this case extracted a terrifyingly high human cost that he was sure he could avoid.

Ranma's lips receded to form a tight dissatisfied frown. "Like on that train," he remarked to himself, trying not to acknowledge the particularly harsh memories that still festered like an open wound.

Maintain an even keel and stay calm - he needed to reaffirm that point in his mind once again. Strong emotions were an enemy that he had to firmly keep under lock and key. Bury it deep down inside and allow the Soul of Ice to quench the burning fire pumping through his veins.

"Yeah, that's just not helping," Ranma admitted. He wanted to scream and explode instead and needed to do it quick.

A percussive boom preceded the journey taken by a dumpster that spun crazily down the length of an empty alleyway. It came to a rest, lodged firmly into the side of a brick building. The metal bin groaned as its upper half was forced to droop over the top of a large dent that marred its face.

That felt good. The release of weeks of pent up frustration was liberating, yet he knew full well that it was a stupid thing to do. Ranma counted out the seconds in his head until he growled a guttural string of curses. His arm throbbed in sync with the movement of black marks that ran from the back of his hand to now around his elbow. Jagged, corded patterns looped around his forearm in rings with its tip resting at the base of his bicep.

"Shit, crap, damn!" Those three simple words summed up his situation nicely. Ranma knew better, he really did, even if it didn't seem like it as he whipped his arm up and down to work out the pin needle stings that was causing his fingers and upper arm to spasm. "It's up even higher now," he said, as a hollow, humorless chuckle arose at the worsening of his condition by his own recklessness.

It started just as a messy star-shaped wound that didn't seem to heal right. Then later it was as if a plant had taken root in the back of his palm as black, vine-like filigree started to wrap around the length of his arm. There would be no mistaking it for some gentle ivy though as wicked, barbed prongs marked it as a briar if anything else. Between each coil were squiggly marks, as far as Ranma could tell. He was familiar enough with the different written characters he'd come across during his travels, but it wasn't recognizable as anything of Asian origin.

Ranma suddenly swayed back and forth unsteadily from the effort of just trying to remain standing. It spoke volumes about the sorry physical state he was in given the endurance like a thoroughbred that he was known for. Wide, bloodshot eyes danced frantically in their sockets and were rimmed by dark discoloration more suited on the face of his father's cursed panda form. His eyes burned, his head throbbed, and most of all he was exhausted. More so than at any point during physical training or any fight, he felt a bone-deep weariness.

"Can't fall asleep though," Ranma reminded himself, shaking his head to try to fight his weariness. A part of him knew he was getting just a little more incoherent as the days rolled by without appreciable sleep, but he had to stay up as he had yet to figure out how to control his condition.

Through unfortunate trial and error, he found that lapses in concentration could leave him open to becoming a passenger in his own body. So Ranma turned to using meditation techniques, but it just wasn't the same. Calming his mind was hard enough, but pressed to do it and in the condition he was in made it almost laughable.

"Pretty sure I've almost-" His sentence went unfinished as he caught himself just as his head fell forward. It was a micro-sleep and a sign that he had gone past the point of running on fumes. Ranma could see an inky blackness starting to creep in at the edges of his vision.

Slate blue eyes snapped open in a desperate attempt to scan what was available around him. There was a four-inch sliver of glass, the remnant from a beer bottle. That would have to do. Ranma jabbed it into his arm and the sharp pain helped pull him back from the brink.

"Too close," he hissed as the haze began to recede and the endorphin rush injected a much needed jolt to his system. He knew well it wouldn't last though. Ranma was a veteran of enough battles to recognize that this was a war of attrition and not a straight up fight, which put him at a severe disadvantage.

As he watched his lifeblood freely flowing from the ragged wound he'd carved, a much darker part of his mind that he didn't allow to be voiced often thought it wouldn't be so bad if he died now. It was a silly morbid thought though since he knew full well what was coming next since that as well had occurred often enough.

There was tingling followed by a weird swelling sensation as if his arm was being inflated like a balloon. The wound closed up and aside from a sticky mess he was none the worse for wear.

The truth was that even if he had a desire to do so, Ranma couldn't even kill himself to get out of this living nightmare. He allowed himself one more outburst in the form of bitter laughter pockmarked with hiccups.

* * *

The city of Shiki in the Saitama prefecture was a tiny city founded in 1970 with few remarkable qualities to offer visitors. Ruins of an ancient castle built near a waterfall and the John Lennon museum were one of the few public attractions, but it was duty that had summoned Kirei Kotomine, a devout servant of the Holy Church.

A request for assistance had been submitted by the Church of St. Ignatius and he was dispatched to the area to render aid. What he had found was the beginnings of an artificial infestation of ghouls perpetrated by a low-ranking magus dabbling in craft far above the limits of their capabilities.

Kanazuki Kohraku was that perpetrator. She was a second-year student at the nearby Sophia University. Born of an unremarkable first-generation family of magus, but with ambitions that far exceeded it, she systematically went about bewitching several young men from the school into joining a harem of her design.

In an attempt to secure ties to bind them all to her will she used her own body to create an adhesive patch that once applied fused with the flesh of her targets and subjugated them to her control. She found the experience better than the insubstantial pleasures of any lucid dream. For while it lasted, it was the crystallization of her heart's deepest, darkest desire - dream given flesh to exist in the waking world.

What she did not account for was that in similar fashion to an intoxicating narcotic, each member became dependent on partaking in her vital fluids in ever increasing dosage. It continued to escalate exponentially until they became voracious and in the end, consumed her entirely down to the marrow in her bones. It was the end of a ridiculous life's story that amounted to a low brow cautionary tale like Icarus, but with a grisly modern twist.

When the orders for this assignment arrived by post in an envelope bearing a wax seal of authenticity there was a brief moment of offended incredulity when he read the objectives it entailed. Some who knew him on a casual basis would find it surprising, but Kirei was not the type to adhere to pretentiousness when it came to his occupation. He did as he was told without complaint, but that did not preclude him from having a measure of what was befitting of his experience and skill set. His initial impression was that it fell far below what he thought as being appropriate.

"But this is no ordinary case." It may have been spoken as a statement of fact, but it served as a question as well. It tickled his mind in a way that fascinated him.

The crackling of timber popping as heat caused moisture at its core to fissure was loud. That it was from a house being engulfed with occupants of the Kohraku family home, both human and non, spewing acrid smoke as they were immolated didn't bother him in the slightest. In fact it provided adequate lighting needed to review the material so he took a seat on a nearby stump. Officials would classify it as a gas fire after the fact, and as long as the bounded field to confound casual observers was maintained he had time to linger.

Kirei had procured the services of an individual in the office tasked with matching Executors to their missions and for a modest fee he insured that interesting assignments would just so happen to fall into his lap from time to time.

"Tokyo Boogeyman," Kirei read aloud from the case file, derision dripping from teeth bared in amusement like venom. "It would be a gaudy title for a shameful fool of a magus and an unnecessary one if used for a mindless beast designated for mere termination."

Kirei quickly skimmed the document to get a general sense of what the mission might entail. Several cases where groups of people vanished under mysterious circumstances were compiled, but the connective thread that bound them to a singular source was weak at best with only the general area of occurrence being cited. There were notes written in a different hand within the margins that mentioned photographs.

He unclasped the binder clip to flip through the attached images that were available of the target. They were few in number and the qualities of each were unhelpfully poor. Most were grainy or pixelated because of poor equipment, others distorted by trying to capture rapid movement causing streaks and blurs, but one single photo proved fruitful.

Kirei brought it closer for inspection and managed to pick out just enough details to make his call. "Germanic runic alphabets," he said with a fair amount of certainty. He was no expert in its historical backstory nor used it with any regularity. An acquaintance of his employed by the Mage Association hailing from the Fraga Clan used it quite extensively.

"Perhaps a consultation visit could be arranged." His mind whirled as disparate ideas formed into interlocking threads and were arranged into fitting the grand tapestry he was attempting to construct.

The shaking of branches overhead and the drifting of loose leaves across his face drew his attention to a monkey that studied him with far too intelligent eyes and beckoned him to give it the attention it was due.

The voice of an old man, far too grave and articulate for the creature, addressed him familiarly. "Kotomine, I bear news of your target."

"Speak then," Kirei bade, as he arranged himself to be more comfortable. "If what you have is worthwhile it will be your normal commission and a bonus."

The primate bared its teeth in the approximation of a pleased leer.

* * *

Ranma was not exhausted by running from the scene of his failure, but a sign of it showed plainly in his face. The most dominating emotion etched there was fear. It was in his eyes, in his posture, and every nervous movement of his body. If it had a tangible scent he would reek of it like bad cologne. His belief in the ultimate outcome that would play out was shaken from this latest setback. Perhaps it was a sign that he'd become too complacent and took things for granted when he shouldn't.

Obstacles were something to be taken in stride, to be seen as another challenge that he would overcome through determination like so many others. This affliction, however, had a way of chipping at his confidence. He was getting rather sick of having it shoved in his face that he was in way over his head. There would be no fooling himself into thinking that he had everything under control and that things would turn out in his favor.

"The police are still investigating an incident that occurred earlier today in the Shibuya ward where eyewitnesses claim an explosive device of some sort was detonated in a crowded street by an unidentified individual. We have three confirmed casualties and the numerous injured were taken to local area hospitals for treatment-"

Ranma reached over and turned off his pilfered, hand-sized radio.

It was late evening now and the commotion stirred from earlier in the day had died down with theories of an unclaimed terrorist action being the popular theory being discussed in media circles. Even indirect accusations like that stung since he knew his culpability in the affair.

The air packed a particularly frosty bite tonight and though the wind was rather intermittent, it was as stiff as one would expect with winter waiting around the bend. For a reason he had yet to identify, it was not enough to make him shiver since his body was kicking off an unusual amount of heat. While he did keep a purloined leather bomber jacket around it was mainly to keep up appearances so as to not attract unwanted attention.

Dark rooftops weren't designed with the coziest of amenities in mind, but the view was almost worth the admission of minor discomfort. From this vantage point, the city and sky merged into a single, black canvas dotted with blinking rainbow colored pearls of light that blurred where one started and the other ended.

"It's a nice night," Ranma said. He playfully let loose a jet of air and watched the trail of mist it left behind like dragon fire. Truthfully, it was during solitary times like this when some melancholy always seemed to sneak up on him, making him wonder how things were going in Nerima.

The lone phone call he had placed was answered by Happosai of all people. His tone must have been a dead giveaway because the old man was in one of his rare moods where he actually refrained from steering the conversation into the territory of stupid. The perverted master had listened to what he had to say and weighed in by suggesting that he not attempt returning and seek out a cure on his own for the time being. It was also suggested that he use this as an opportunity to go on a training trip. Ranma thought the shrunken pervert was trying to put him off so he ignored the advice and boarded a train that very night.

Ranma hardened his gaze on his damaged right hand that was responsible for turning that idea into regret and made Happosai's words so prophetic in the end.

Nine weeks had gone by since he left the hotel in Shizuoka, which was hard to imagine. With the up and down rollercoaster ride he'd been on it felt more like his ordeal had dragged on for years now. For a moment he fell into the trap of imagining what it might have been like had he kept his nose out of it and not gotten mixed up in this whole monster business. He had to squash that line of thinking before it got out of hand because all the wishing in the world wasn't going to solve his problem. No, his options were limited to what he could come up with on his own or what he could get by calling Nerima.

Ranma hissed as a shooting electric pain traveled the length of his arm. Having become all too familiar he knew what was coming and tried to brace himself as best he could. Ranma squeezed the ball of his right shoulder with his left hand as a tremor made his arm flop around and spasm wildly. Glancing to his left brought into view red neon digits that displayed the time above a bank's storefront.

11:59:45... 46... 47... 48...

The seconds ticked away at a constant pace as the thrashing continued, leaving Ranma to wonder how long it would take to end this time around. In the distance a bell tolled and it was not until some moments afterwards when the digital clock showed 12:01:17 AM that he was granted his reprieve.

Ranma wiped the beads of cold sweat off his brow, while wearing a worried look. Fifteen seconds longer than the last time. The only thankful part of this latest fit was that the intensity was dialed down and easier to manage, but the frequency and intervals between each occurrence was becoming worrisome. He'd come to quickly associate the instances of intense pain as his guest's dinner bell - a signal to Ranma that it was demanding to be fed. If left ignored, it would progress to the second stage where it would start a contest of wills to wrestle away control of his body.

Tentatively, Ranma unwound just enough of the cloth bandage to examine his arm. The black marks were spreading, leaving less and less unblemished flesh behind. It not only tracked the worsening of his condition, but also reminded him of his spotty win-loss record in trying to fight it to this point.

Amid all the negatives of his affliction, he was amazed, yet also disturbed, by an ability his unwanted occupant paid him by way of rent. He could "feel" the ebb and flow of the people below him in a way that he never could before. More than just sensing them he could actually identify unique concentrations and discern those who possessed a strong life force from that those that did not.

If he focused, past the surface noise around him, he could actually make out details of the tenant in the ramshackle hobble three buildings over who struck his screaming wife with an open palm as an infant shrieked in the next room, or of the man who stank of sweat vigorously working between the parted legs of his underage and cheaply liquored partner in the side alley a block away.

"Way too much information," he amended with a blush.

There was a momentary falter in his steps and he grimaced as he leapt down from the roof back down to street-level. Without moving his head he kept walking in a straight line as he re-adjusted the knot that secured the binding to his arm. He used the subtle movement to hide how he trailed his eyes up and to his right where it traced a weaving path along the rooftops. Someone was following him and it didn't seem like they were trying to be discreet about it. Repeated bursts of hostile intent were being aimed at his back that just dared him to do something despite the presence of people still around him.

"What a moron," Ranma commented with disgust, finding the lack of discipline to be dislikable.

He broke away from the main road and ducked into a more remote side street that took him outside the flow of regular foot traffic. Eventually he reached the end of an alley where he met nose-to-wall with a concrete barrier that he easily cleared in a single leap.

* * *

Kirei followed the well-worn career path purposefully laid before him by Risei, his dearly departed father, and as the dutiful son that he was he carried on the responsibilities given to him from a young age as "Executor" for the Holy Church.

In that capacity he was tasked with the destruction of elements deemed to be unnatural and abominable in the eyes of their leadership group who professed to speak on behalf of their almighty God. On the whole, they focused their attentions on the affairs of the visible world and left the dirty jobs to people like him, and secular elements in the hands of the Mage Association and their Enforcers.

Despite similarities, the religious order saw them as comprising nothing more than a pack of heretical dogs. And Kirei was a dog of unique distinction by serving both the Church and Mage Association, depending on circumstances. He'd gained a foothold with the magi when he was taken in and formally recognized as the apprentice to a man named Tokiomi Tohsaka.

"Let old remembrances be forgotten," he said and banished the thoughts of the past to where they belonged. Kirei shifted his attentions to matters in the present of greater interest as uncharacteristic anticipation gnawed away at the stoic facade he liked to present publicly.

The journey from the city of Shiki to Ikebukuro was a short one with it only being a half hour away, but it felt as if it had taken much longer. Rare were the instances where duty and personal interest crossed over and dovetailed nicely as was the case here.

The message delivered by the monkey familiar added further details that helped confirm the doubts he and the assignment officer under his payroll had entertained. The behavior noted in the documentation was far too complex for a mindless ghoul, which left open the possibility that the target was a Living Dead, a Vampire, or a Dead Apostle.

Dead Apostles were ancient beings that for the most part had human forms and desires that could be understood to a degree. The exceptions were far more fantastical in form like the Forest of Einnashe, which was a predatory living sea of trees over 30 miles in diameter that consumed entire populaces whenever it manifested.

"Fortuitously that is not what you appear to be," he said, while skirting the tops of buildings to keep his current target in sight. "In such a case I may have been obligated to release you to the mercies of the Burial Agency instead."

The recklessness of the attacks, one occurring in broad daylight on a busy street, was uncharacteristic of the known members. It all but eliminated that likelihood from his consideration and left two remaining options in play.

"So what are you then that you elude easy classification?" Kirei found himself pondering that question as he tailed what looked like a homeless street rat. Casual appearances that said otherwise were misleading as his target gave subtle indications of being aware of his position on the roof and that he was being pursued.

"I do hope I am not building up undue anticipation only to be disappointed."

* * *

Sunshine 9 was a well-publicized attempt to construct a state-of-the-art apartment complex designed to balance affordable living with space conservation in mind by building tall instead of wide. Concerns about underground water pockets causing the entire structure to sink into the ground amid an earthquake by liquefaction brought a screeching halt to the project. It was a detail that explained why the construction yard before him was conveniently empty.

Ranma shot a contemptuous glare to his side where he viciously squeezed his right arm that was wrapped in dirty gauze. "Found something you like?" Ranma whispered, as the pain increased noticeably.

"You can come out now," Ranma called out. He scanned the steel needlework above, trying to find his guest amongst the hedge of crisscrossing I-Beams and rebar.

A figure stepped out from behind one of the vertical columns overhead. The smiling man was very tall, well above average, but he was not lanky. He was fit from what Ranma could tell, although his thick priestly robes made it hard to pick out any more details than that with any certainty. However, the way he moved and stood balanced on the balls of his feet - right down to the way the man's eyes analyzed both Ranma and the area - it all screamed that this was no stranger to combat.

"I commend your taste in locale away from prying eyes and interference." The speaker's voice was a baritone, not wholly unpleasant, but there was a hint of smugness to it. "Though I must admit being unaware that the lesser of your kind was so conscientious about preserving civil peace."

"What do you mean by my 'kind'?" Ranma asked, detecting an odd connotation being attached to the term. His voice came out frosty and harsh without its natural inflection - the Soul of Ice was holding back the bristle and barb that would've normally leapt out of his throat. Despite the numbing effect of the technique, he felt a sliver of unease around this supposed Holy Man.

"Oh, but where are my manners. Kotomine Kirei, a humble servant of the Church," he said, adding a flourish to his apologetically sketched bow. His eyes didn't match the feigned pleasantry of his smile and they glinted in a manner that said he was no vicar selling a bible and a sermon.

"What do you want?" Ranma was tense now. The burning sensation in his appendage grew as well in proportion to his worry and he fought to keep both clamped down.

"What indeed," he intoned. An upturn of his arms caused two sets of blades to fan open between the fingers of both hands.

"You're making a mistake," Ranma barked out through fiercely clenched teeth, which ended in a hiss when the bandages once more burst free from his right arm. Inky blotches seeped out of the wound on his palm, tracing and darkening the coiled pattern around his forearm.

"I sincerely doubt that, but your concern is duly noted," Kirei replied with a casual air. Ranma noted that the man wore a smirk now that suited him far more aptly.

* * *

The sense of helplessness he felt back then against the creature now in his arm, the feeling that he bit off more than he could chew, was eerily reminiscent to what he was feeling now. Ranma hoped that he'd survive this encounter just as he had the other, though he prayed it wouldn't be at a similar toll to his wellbeing.

Debris fell around his head like deadly raindrops and kicked up a powdery plume that stung his eyes and made it hard to see and breathe. Ranma lifted his shirtsleeve to his mouth to prevent a cough that might give away his position, but allowed himself a grimace though when he tasted the mixture of blood and plaster that had pervaded his mouth.

"I was expecting a far more interesting show of skill. Why do you persist on hiding the extent of your abilities?" Kirei's voice, laced with boredom, revealed the man's position and gave Ranma just enough time to angle behind a girder that served as his shield. "My eyes do not deceive me, young man. I know that you are hesitating with the pauses in your body's movements. What are you afraid of?"

Ranma did not oblige the man in chatter, choosing instead to circle around. He was presented with an odd puzzle. His opponent outclassed him in his weakened state, perhaps even if he was at full strength, but he wasn't pressing his advantage. Why? He was being toyed with like this was all some kind of weird game.

The priest slowly walked, where Ranma ran, and was calm, while Ranma was frantic. No matter the speed he used to dart from nook to cranny, the man would simply turn and face him, all while wearing that ever-present smirk of condescension that was getting on his nerves and rattling his command over the Soul of Ice.

Ranma took a moment to catch his breath while hiding behind a concrete wall. He thought to himself how unfair the situation was now that the shoe was on the other foot, leaving him playing the part of Ryoga Hibiki as the victim of taunting in this little fight - minus the stupidity, direction sense, and terrible looks, of course.

Not only was he fighting the Priest from Hell, but he was also dealing with his unwanted condition that was making it very clear what it would rather be doing right now if the persistent burning in his right arm was a clue.

It was like carrying Cologne on his back as a backseat driver who would bop him on the head and tug on his pigtail to get him to move this way and that. A second brain that had its own impulses and reactions to what was transpiring was crossing him up. It was hard to coordinate his actions so he was realizing he'd have to go with the flow of what it wanted to do and adapt it into an overall scheme. Unfortunately training or fighting for that matter hadn't come up so he was dealing with this now in real-time.

Ranma picked up a steel water pipe with no resistance and flung it spear-like at the man, but the air it cut through made it whistle loudly, allowing Kirei enough time to avoid the attack.

"If you are not going to approach this with any measure of seriousness then I am going to have to put an end to further proceedings." Kirei flung a piece of paper that attached itself to a support beam above Ranma's head.

Ranma knew when trouble came a calling so he jumped away only to hit an invisible barrier that jolted him with what he thought was enough juice to light up an entire city block. He hit the ground as a trembling wreck, the sound of electric popping in his ears and the smell of burnt hair and fabric filling his nose.

"For a pitiful creature that made a sport of killing so many in such distasteful fashion, you certainly are a pathetic challenge in the face of real opposition." Kirei stared at the twitching boy with an indifference one might reserve for a cockroach.

Ranma crawled onto his stomach where he shot the man a defiant glare through messy bangs that clung to his sweat soaked face. "I'm Ranma Saotome," he loudly, and in a firm unwavering manner declared, "and I'm no murderer."

"Ranma," Kirei echoed, as if tasting the name on his tongue. "But you are," he recused before driving a kick that caught Ranma flush under his chin and flipped him onto his back.

"Rest easy in the thought that judgment has been passed onto you by those most pious and wise," Kirei said, as he placed his foot on Ranma's outstretched hand and ground it under his heels, "and find comfort that I come as the dutiful attendant to pass sentence and free your soul."

Ranma stared up at the patch of sky visible through the unfinished ceiling above him and vowed that the fight wasn't over. As the exhaustion and the weight of hopelessness began to press on him, a familiar haze began to slide over his eyes. He could feel himself beginning to sink into the depths of his mind, but he grabbed hold of it and channeled it in a familiar, yet entirely different manner.

"What is this?!" Kirei felt an unfamiliar... heaviness pushing down on him, making it hard to remain standing up straight, let alone move in any direction. He didn't detect any trace of prana or mana being expended, but there was an eerie green, red glow emanating from the boy like the tongues of a raging inferno.

"The world is a dark and lonely place, and I'm beyond the point of despair... Shishi Hoko Dan." Ranma said it in a near whisper that was immediately drowned out by the roar of changing air pressure. An upward draft was created that nearly lifted the priest off his feet.

Kirei just happened to catch a glimpse of a gigantic swirling orb that crackled with spikes and discharges of residual energy. His eyes widened as it reached some unseen apex and dropped like Newton's apple as gravity recalled it back to earth. It struck with ferocity like the descending fist of an angry titan and detonated like a bomb on impact. What took a construction crew two years to erect was erased in seconds as steel beams and concrete were reduced to scrap and rubble.

Untouched within the depression of the massive impact crater was Ranma who hovered in an odd bubble of numbness that left him feeling hollow from the exertion of his attack. He stared eye to eye with his opponent who no longer looked at him with casual dismissal and disdain, but it was also obvious that he had managed to escape mostly unscathed.

Instead of fighting it this time, Ranma willingly allowed the foreign influence of his arm to take hold of his mind as he willingly threw himself into the depths of his consciousness. The sudden and intense spike of prana forced Kirei to take cautious steps backwards to gain distance as Ranma slowly rose to his feet. One glance at the young man and Kirei knew it was a new breed of animal that stood before him. There was no hesitation, nervousness, or indecision like prior. The blank emotional canvas he hid himself behind where an angry fire occasionally manifested in his gaze was gone, replaced by dead doll-like eyes that shined with singular intent.

"Is this some kind of Battle Hypnosis?" Kirei wondered what it could be as the boy seemed to enter into a trance-like combat state that greatly augmented his previously exhibited abilities.

A burst of displaced dirt and debris signaled the opening of pleasantries followed by a sonorous clang that reverberated through the flattened and empty construction yard. It was a testament to his training that Kirei was able to raise his Black Keys in defense at the unexpected speed, but he quickly found himself struggling against the surprising power that was slowly driving him backwards.

"Transfiguration?" To his surprise Kirei found that he was asking a great many questions during this fight, which was already more than what he had expected. He had the boy's attacking arm trapped between two blades, but instead of an appendage being sheared loose with an accompanying spray of blood he was met with the sound of metal grinding against metal.

Kirei just did manage to throw his head back when fingers turned into pronged barbs that shot towards his face. He twisted Ranma's arm to the side, which forced the attack to go even wider. Dropping one of his blades to the ground he used the freed hand to withdraw a parchment that he slapped onto the boy's back. Retaking his blade he jumped back just in time to avoid as an explosion that flung the pigtailed youth into a thick metal strut with enough force to dent it.

Already his foe was back on his feet, which sent a mixture of annoyance and adulation coursing through him amid a melody that was his own rapid heartbeats. Ranma dashed forward at speeds easily double what he had demonstrated earlier.

"Yes, yes, excellent!" Kirei exclaimed, as he hurled a Black Key like an arrow that unerringly found its mark. The enchanted weapon punched through Ranma's shoulder and pinned him to one of the few standing pillars behind him. "This is more like what I expected of you!"

Ranma wrapped his hands around the imbedded weapon where an audible hiss and thick white smoke billowed at the point of contact. The blade took on an ochre sheen before it disintegrated into a fine dust that poured through the fingers of his clenched fist.

"Enhance," Kirei said. His words invoked a pale light that enveloped him for a moment then faded away. He shifted his form so that he was in the opening stance of his specialized bajiquan fighting style.

Had Ranma been fully cognizant there might have been actual appreciation given for the chance to steal the technique, but he instead stared with an unwavering, predatory focus that drew an appreciative noise from Kirei. It was plainly clear to him that the feral boy was something far more interesting and all together mysterious than your average run of the mill stooge that he encountered on the majority of his assignments.

Kirei noticed a furtive glance being made by his opponent in an apparent ploy to escape and he was having none of that. Using nearly triple the speed that he used before, Kirei maneuvered behind the boy and hoisted him by his shirt collar and threw him at a concrete wall. A vast spider web of cracks branched out from the point of impact as displaced slabs crashed around Ranma's body.

"I don't seek to kill you, Boy," Kirei remarked, off-handedly, "however, the hardiness of your constitution is beginning to test the limits of my restraint." Kirei paused on that very word he uttered as an inkling of an idea of how to deal with the situation came to him.

"I am certain there is some humor to be had that an accused dog such as I would think to turn a muzzle of all things on you."

* * *

Pain recalled pain, and what Ranma had felt on that first night on the rooftop eclipsed anything he had encountered since by a wide margin, current injuries included. Relatively speaking, that is. He sat atop a mound of shattered debris and bent steel, looking like some kind of urban monarch holding court. He was sucking down air in heaving gasps, as sweat and blood dripped off of his bowed head.

Despite appearances, this was the best he'd felt in a long, long time. It felt like he had walked through a hurricane for months without end only to encounter an unexpected calm in the eye of the storm. It wasn't a bad feeling by any means. The suddenness that it came upon him though was weird - much like everything else he had experienced lately.

"I regret having to interrupt your contemplations, but I feel it necessary to offer you my humblest apology since it appears you were speaking the truth after all," the priest said, ignoring the severe glare Ranma shot him. "The dispatch from the Church assured me that they had confirmed you to be a vampire of sorts, but I see that our intelligence was regrettably flawed."

"You don't say," Ranma groused before rapidly blinking. His expression quickly flashed from panic to puzzlement when he noticed his Soul of Ice was totally down and nothing bad was happening.

Kirei quirked his brow at Ranma's odd behavior, but didn't make mention of it. "With the misunderstanding placed behind us now, perhaps we can discuss the situation with more civility?"

"I'm open to that," Ranma said. "But first, what are these things?" He indicated, tapping the nearly half-dozen sheets of paper that were affixed to his arm.

"They are holy scriptures for the purposes of sealing and warding. I believe your Shinto holy men use something similar." Kirei re-holstered the last of his blades back in his inner coat pocket as Ranma nodded in basic understanding.

One of the sheets suddenly fell away from Ranma's arm in a shower of shredded paper that burst into flames that didn't even make it to the ground as ash. Ranma gave the priest a questioning look.

"Whatever entity currently resides within you appears to have a predilection for the arcane."

"What's that mean in normal talk?"

"It enjoys eating magic."

"Oh." Ranma wondered with a frown why the man couldn't just say it like that in the first place. In fact, the entire way he talked seemed overly polite and geared specifically to make him feel stupid without a dictionary on hand to translate, which was annoying.

Kirei waited patiently as Ranma took that piece of information and visibly rolled it around in his head. He seemed to be wrestling with whether to voice a follow-up question or not, if he was reading the amusing stops and starts correctly.

Ranma licked his lip nervously and was obviously uncomfortable with having to even broach the subject, but the man in front of him seemed to know something about this stuff. "Is it supposed to be just magic that it eats?"

"How do you mean?"

"Is it normal for the thing to try eating other stuff?"

"Other 'stuff' being human lives, I imagine," Kirei said, passively. Ranma found the man's stony expression difficult to read, but took it as a statement of fact rather than an accusation. It still struck with noticeable effect as Ranma refused to meet his gaze, and instead hunched over to run shaking hands over his quickly paling face. He made no move to refute the priest though, and eventually responded with a weak nod of his head.

"That would seemingly explain the initial reports of vampirism from the Organization," Kirei noted aloud. "I assume you do not do this willingly?"

"Of course I don't!" Ranma shouted vehemently, and then far more softly, "I can't stop the damn thing though. Hell, this is the first time that it's not jerking me around when I'm not using the Soul of Ice."

Kirei hummed thoughtfully and made a mental note about this "Soul of Ice" but refrained from interrupting.

"But I'm not doing any of this because I want to! I'm not the one who-!" His eyes momentarily lost their focus for a half-second as a ghost of a memory flashed before him. There was a phantom sensation of sticky, wet warmth on his hands that buckled him to his knees where he gagged and dry heaved without actually retching.

"Well, your problem isn't so bad, I suppose," Kirei calmly remarked. Ranma gave him a look of angry disbelief as he spat residual bile and wiped his chin.

"It's plenty bad enough!" he retorted bitterly. He pushed himself up onto wobbly legs to better level a glare at the man who he thought was making light of his situation.

Hands rose in placation, however. "You misunderstand me, dear boy," he said soothingly. He met the heat of Ranma's anger head-on without flinching, and went so far as to dare a smile in the face of it.

"Then get to the point already! I don't have the patience to be dealing with this right now," Ranma barked, clearly unsettled. He was in no mood for further niceties with this man as the euphoric novelty of being freed from his ordeal was rapidly fading.

Kirei frowned at Ranma's blatant cheekiness. A part of him wanted to disengage the holy passages granting him his cognizance in reprimand out of sheer malicious spite, but he let it pass. "What I mean is that a solution to your problem readily exists."

Ranma's eyes shot wide-open in disbelief and his mouth moved up and down but no words issued forth. It couldn't possibly be this easy could it? No. Mysterious strangers offering up a miraculous cure-all were usually snake oil salesman looking for a sucker.

"What's the catch?" Ranma asked.

"Come to Fuyuki City and partake in a little game," Kirei replied.

"And what kind of game is this supposed to be?" Ranma guardedly asked even though he was sure the unspoken 'yes' was telegraphed by the eager tremble he couldn't quite restrain. "This is life and death stuff that I'm dealing with so this better not be some kind of sick joke."

The priest flashed him a smile that spoke of how pleased he was with his response. "Oh, I assure you, that it is without a doubt all about life and death."

* * *

End Chapter 2

Author's Note:

More of the story to come at some point.


End file.
